Obey
by Ophelian-undertaking
Summary: Loki thinks Clint was rather easy to break. A series of unrelated (or loosely related) Loki/Clint drabbles. Trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Clint was not a cruel person by nature. Quite the opposite in fact, he like to think he was a rather nice guy. He thought he was rather justified in the punch he had landed.

Loki didn't even flinch.

His slender fingers tightened around his throat, further cutting off the archer's breath. He coughed violently, one hand struggling to shove the furious mischief maker away, his nails digging into the white flesh of his cheek, the other clawing the pale hand at his throat. Loki only chuckled, prying the fingers from his face. Clint curved his fingers, peeling skin back. Deep red blood dripped from the gouges and short nails.

Loki brought his fingers to his lips, letting two into his mouth. His tongue curled around them, savoring the sweet metallic tang of blood. Clint watched helplessly, the edges of his vision going black. On more sharp squeeze and air rushed back into his aching lungs. Loki bit down on his fingers, receiving a pained cry, and then pulled them from his mouth. Clint fell to the ground, coughing and cradling his bleeding fingers.

The god kicked Clint's hip, rolling him unceremoniously to his back. Hawkeye groaned in pain, raising a hand to his neck. A black boot kicked it out, then settled on his palm. Loki leaned his weight forward with a grin, and Clint ground his teeth. He turned his ankle, drawing a pained curse from the mortal man beneath him. Satisfied, he stepped between his hand and head, resting his other foot comparatively lighter in the side of Clint's face. Kneeling down, Loki feigned a caring, comforting grin.

"Are you going to obey me?"

Clint responded with a petulant snarl, earning him a sharp kick to the temple.

"Are you ready to obey me?" Loki repeated. He was silent, struggling to his hands and knees. The dull thud of shoes on concrete echoed in the dark warehouse, approaching leisurely.

"Well?" Impatience laced his voice. He covered Clint's injured hand with the toe of his boot again, leaning forward.

"Yes… Yes sir…"


	2. Chapter 2

TW: dub-con (mind Control), Implied abuse, mildly graphic sex

His eyes were closed, not tightly, but enough to keep what he didn't want to see out of his vision. Cold was radiating from his chest to his fingertips. The hands on him were colder. A frozen breath ghosted across his neck, making him shiver.

"Calm." A silk voice commands him, and his body obeys. The word calms him to his core, and his eyes are open.

There is a long, pale face in front of him, grinning and staring down at him.

"Barton."

Loki's voice smelled like cold and like peppermint. Clint inhaled it like cigarette smoke.

"Yes." He breathed. He felt weightless. His hands found the bed sheets, gripping them to keep himself grounded. Loki had said something, commanded something, but Clint didn't hear it. He felt strong hands on his waist and hips, the heavy jeans he was wearing slipping off.

"Barton." He repeated. "Your trousers."

Slender fingers popped open the button and dragged down the zipper. Clint felt the pressure of fingers and the radiating cold through the fabric of his pants and boxers and a low groan rose from his throat.

Loki opened his mouth again, another command bubbling up, but before he could speak, Clint raised his hips, shedding his jeans.

"good boy." The praise was murmured in his ear, from the man kneeling over him. A hand slid between skin and fabric while the other lay flat against his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

TW: Violent sex, implied abuse

This was not love. There were no soft beds or tender embraces. Loving phrases had no place in what they created for themselves. No sweet warmth. Violent passion in its place, there was no love making. Not here. They left each other with shallow gashes on their backs and bruises on their necks and wrists, aching bones and sore hearts.

There was no love when they fell to the floor, one hand behind his neck, the other in his hair. To be fair, neither of them ever thought it was, although some acquaintances had made the assumption about affection between them. One would smile. One would frown.

"Love is for children."

"Sentiment is for fools."

The response was always a sigh. But they ignored it.

"You taught me that."

"I've always told you that."

The comment stung, and she turned her head. The brother laid his heavy hand on his shoulder.

It was not love.

They hit the ground hard, the blonde taking the brunt of it, making the man above him chuckle.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Sharp nails dug through the thin fabric of his shirt, shredding the cloth and the flesh beneath it. Clint drew in a sharp breath, breathing out a name in a hiss as his back arched off the cold cement.

"Loki."

Clothing disappeared in record time. The bare bodies writhed against each other, no form, no restraint, save the vice grip of Loki's hand over Clint's wrists. Words of ownership were whispered- 'remind me again, pet, to whom do you belong?'-before the swift entrance. There was no preparation, Loki felt there was no need, and he was particularly impatient today. Neither pair of lips ached for a kiss, no soft touches, no hushed words.

"Tell me."

Loki snarled into Clint's ear, his hips making quick short thrusts to meet the eager man beneath him.

"Tell me!"

His nails dug into Clint's hip while the other hand held his arms above him. Loki sunk his teeth into his neck, drawing blood.

"You, you!" he choked out, gasping.

"Name!"

"You, Loki. I belong to Loki."

"You do if you know what's good for you." He'd purr, and then he' bring both of them to their climax. He would leave Clint alone in whatever place he'd told him to be. He would never stay, save to occasionally admire the man as he stumbled to his feet and cleaned himself off. No kisses, no Embraces, no words of affection. This was not love.


End file.
